Vicissitudes
by Tavaril Lasgalen
Summary: When Aragorn hears unwanted news involving Legolas, he can't believe it and is certain not all things are as they seem. But in Mirkwood, the Royal Family find themselves fighting an unknown force that seems set against them.
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer: **__Unfortunately, I do not own Lord of the Rings or any of the canon characters. Shame._

_**This story is not: **__A Mary-Sue, romance, or slash. Fear not!_

_**Warning: **__Slightly AU._

_**Author notes: **__The idea for this popped into my head while reading the MC story, "Stars of Harad." Since then plot bunnies have been assailing me until I finally put pen to paper. So this is the result. :D And I know I promised some of you that a story involving Eowyn and Eomer was on the way and it is! I'm just…trying to think of a plot. And I am currently working without a beta reader, so if you see any errors, please tell me._

**~*Prologue*~**

A battered party of elven warriors wound their way through the imposing trees of Mirkwood. Their clothes were torn and stained with the blood of orcs, spiders, wargs, and their own silvery-red blood. Dejection and grief emanated from the patrol as they carried those too wounded to walk on their own and the dead back to the Elvenking's realm. Two elves kept their senses tingling, listening for any sign of approaching enemies.

King Thranduil had sent the patrol down south to a small outpost near the Mountains of Mirkwood to eliminate what had been reported as "a band of orcs and wargs. There are not very many now, but assuredly, the numbers will go up." Several young warriors who had returned from a trading venture with the men of Esgaroth had volunteered to go within the hour. Lead by Thranduil's youngest son, Prince Legolas, the war party had departed with a determined air, certain they would return before too long. They were wrong.

While the wood-elves had been busy defending their borders from the forces of Dol Guldur, the Necromancer's power had spread farther then most of the Eldar had thought. A large section of the great forest which had not too long ago been light and green was now dark and oppressing. The war party had had to fight an entire nest of spiders and a roaming band of orcs before crossing their intended prey. By this time, several elves had been cut down and the rest were still recuperating. The number of the enemy had risen since the scout had reported. Though they fought with a vengeance, the fact that they were outnumbered began to show and they were forced to retreat.

Now, yet another section of their home was under the Necromancer's control.

As the elves neared the outskirts of the dwellings of their people, one or two of the elves saw them and the burdens they carried and turned away, anguish on their faces.

One silver-haired elleth gracefully jumped out of an oak, hopeful eyes scanning the returning elves for her brother. Her eyes widened with shock, head shaking in silent denial when her gaze found his pale, lifeless face.

OoOoOoOoO

King Thranduil thrummed his fingers on the wooden tabletop impatiently as he listened to the voices of the men of Dorwinion laud their items they had brought to trade with him, suppressing a strong desire to stand and shout at the traders to simply state the price they desired for their goods. Needless to say, it was very dull to be cooped up in this room all day long with various traders from various settlements, all trying to get the final price in their favor. Especially when they prattled on and on like this, over-exaggerating the quality of whatever it was they traded with him. Thranduil conveniently overlooked the fact that his elves did the exact same thing when they traded with men or dwarves.

He allowed some of his frustration to show on his face and the spindly merchant who had been giving a lengthy account of the superior quality of the soil in his area and the careful care in which _everything_ regarding the grapes and making of wine was done hastily finished.

_At last,_Thranduil thought wryly. He opened his mouth to start the negotiations when the door abruptly banged open. All heads at the table instantly swiveled to see who was interrupting. Thranduil glowered; whoever it was had better have a good reason for disrupting the meeting.

His daughter Princess Merillas entered, acknowledging the hasty bows of the elves and men with a dip of her silvery-gold head. Thranduil felt his pulse quicken slightly; if Merillas was interrupting, she had important information or news. She strode purposefully towards him, meeting his cold expression with a look of urgency in her eyes. She gave the men a faint nod as she walked, but when she reached Thranduil, completely disregarded them. The elleth leaned down and spoke in a soft whisper only elven ears would hear.

"Forgive me for interrupting, my lord, but Prince Legolas' patrol has returned and Captain Morlin thinks you should come. He says it is urgent, but would not tell me why."

Thranduil kept his emotions masked by narrowing his eyes slightly, even though he was inventing logical reasons for this in his head. "Very well. Complete these negotiations for me, will you?"

She gave an almost imperceptible nod. "Yes, my king."

Her displeasure at being left to deal with the traders showed in the slight bunching of her jaw muscles. He gave her a small smile; no one in Mirkwood's royal family enjoyed this part of being ruler. Straightening, Merillas faced the men and put her hands on the table decisively as Thranduil rose. "Well, gentlemen, my liege lord has kingly duties to attend to at the moment. You will have to be content with me now."

The elvenking noticed looks of curiosity shot his way and smirks as the men scrutinized Merillas, no doubt thinking they would get deals extremely in their favor with her in charge. All of the traders and elves in the room stood and bowed as their king left.

Once the door closed behind him, the king lengthened his stride, concern thrumming through him. The elves in his path swiftly stepped aside and bowed, waiting respectfully until he had passed before raising their heads and continuing on their way. Thranduil did not even acknowledge them as thoughts vied for attention.

_Perhaps Prince Legolas has found more massive spider nests…_

_Perhaps Dol Guldur's offense is lessening…? No…_

_Perhaps Legolas is injured?_

With this sentiment in mind, Thranduil sped up even more, weaving his way through the halls to the main door to the palace. He all but threw the doors open to enter the courtyard. Near the innermost flets, a large group of elves gathered. He made for them and nearly shouted with relief when a golden head emerged from the crowd and made for him, grey eyes quite clearly masking some intense emotion.

Thranduil slowed and asked as his son stopped a few feet away, relief coursing through his veins that Legolas was uninjured. In fact, not even a hair was out of place.

"What happened, Legolas?"

His son gave him a half-puzzled, half-dreading look. He took a deep breath and stared at his father in the eye, using the familiar way of address as his father had. "Father…I am Celeblas, not Legolas. Legolas is…"

Thranduil felt like banging his head against the wall. His two sons looks so much alike, everyone had trouble telling them apart. Except when they talked that is, for Celeblas' voice was deeper than his brother's. The elvenking noticed that Celeblas was eyeing him with barely concealed apprehension and that his eyes were very bright, even for an elf.

"What is it, Celeblas? Where is…"

Just then, two elves backed out of the crowd, carrying a stretcher towards Thranduil. A sickening feeling started to grow as he quickly put together the facts and came to a conclusion. He barely felt Celeblas' comforting hand on his shoulder when he saw Legolas on the stretcher, cold, pale, lifeless, with bloody wounds on his body and a smashed skull. Blood obliterated his features. The ground seemed to swoop under him as his stomach dropped. Thranduil clenched his fists, frozen in disbelief as he stared at Legolas.

_This cannot be happening. This is just a nightmare. It__**cannot**____be real!_

But it was real. His son was dead.

He was unaware that Celeblas' hand on his shoulder was trembling with scarcely controlled grief. He was unaware of the sympathetic and tear-filled gazes of his people. He was unaware of Captain Morlin and several elves of Legolas' patrol telling him what had happened. All he could see was Legolas' bloody, pain-filled face.

_My son is dead. No. No. Nonononono!_

A cry of anguish tore itself from his lips as the sun peeked over the treetops.

OoOoOoOoO

_I feel bad now. Next week, we find out what's going on with Aragorn. Oh, and 'vicissitudes' means 'unexpected changes in life.' I found that word while browsing through my dictionary. ;) But what do you think? Good? Bad? Odd? Constructive criticism is treasured._


	2. Chapter One

_**Disclaimer: **__See the prologue_

_**Author Notes: **__Thank you so much, RosalieCullenHale1 and Elvewen, for reviewing and all those who added this story to their Favorites/Alerts. It means so much to me._

_**Beta Reader: **__Bobadoo_

**~*Chapter One*~**

_2952, Third Age. Ten years later…._

Aragorn cast an exasperated glance at the ominous clouds overhead and grumpily pulled the hood of his cloak over his head. He was _not _having a good day. Or week, for that matter. A few days ago in the Weather Hills, he had wearily stumbled into a deep, spacious, and dark cave with his horse after a hard day's travel, looking forward to a good night's rest. As he was ensuring the safety of the cave, he had discovered a short tunnel which led to a small cavern. Inside the cavern was a group of five goblins. He had instantly unsheathed his sword and attacked, but they had been alerted of his presence by the clatter of his horse's hooves and were more than ready for him.

He had managed to emerge from the fight victorious, but not unharmed. The goblins had not been very inept fighters, but one of them had managed to give him a nasty cut on his left thigh. Thankfully, the blade had not been poisoned. As he had bound the wound, he frowned in unease. Goblins had not been seen around this country for many years and it was very disturbing to find them there.

The few folk he saw as he left the Hills and went towards the Midgewater Marshes had given him dark looks and hurried on their way. Few trusted Rangers in these lands; their grim and rugged appearance along with the fact that they were always armed did not vouch kindly for them.

Then this morning, he had arisen from a deep and restful slumber to find that his horse had run away during the night because of the closeness of a wolf. Aragorn strongly wished he had not bought that skittish equine from a farmer. Though the beast no doubt was having a better life then it had previously.

Now, the Ranger was picking his way through the bewildering Midgewater Marshes and glowering at the black clouds that threatened a thunderstorm.

Aragorn swatted at the midges that were congregating about his person. This only deterred them for a few seconds before they swarmed back onto him. _What do they eat when they don't get Ranger?_He wondered.

A colorful curse in Quenya escaped his lips when his wounded leg slipped on a wet bunch of reeds and slid into a boggy section of the ground up to the knee. Aragorn swiftly regained his balance and stepped back with his free limb, endeavoring to free his leg. Bolts of pain shot up from his leg, making Aragorn grit his teeth. The young man did his best to lift his leg, but the boggy ground seemed reluctant to relinquish its hold. Arms flailing in an effort to keep the flies and midges away, he shifted his foot to get a better purchase.

And grunted in surprise with the treacherous footing caused it to slid sideways into a similar situation as its fellow foot just as the earth had given up its grasp on it.

Huffing and puffing, he glowered at the ground. He braced his arms on firm ground and pushed against it with all of his strength. A savage smile creased his face when both legs were raised so that the mud was only partway up the shin now. He was about to push again, when an ominous buzzing sounded near his ear. Aragorn turned his head and glared ferociously at the offending fly. When it did not take the warning, he shifted his weight to one arm and slapped at the insect with a war cry, disrupting the midges on his arm in the process.

With narrowed eyes, he watched the fly dart out of the way just in time and retreat somewhat. He growled as he gave two more heaves against the ground, liberating his legs. Aragorn rolled over from his stomach to his back and gave a frustrated sigh. The bugs seemed to disregard the fact that his mood was a good deal fouler than formerly and attacked with a vengeance. He swung both arms about crazily to obtain some relief. The pests backed off somewhat.

Aragorn sat up slowly, grimacing at the sight of his filthy clothes. The makeshift bandage had fresh blood stains on it now too. Grunting, he stood and half-sloshed, half-limped on his way as fast as he could, still fighting a losing battle against the bugs.

Apart from a few stumbles and much back-tracking to find a path through the bewildering terrain, Aragorn managed to make fairly good time. However, by the time night fell, the ranger had resigned himself to the forays made by the creatures for which the marshes were named.

Deciding that the fairly dry area in which he now stood was as good a campsite as he was likely to find here, Aragorn tossed his pack to the ground and glanced up at the rapidly appearing stars, judging the time. Then he threw himself down onto the cold, damp ground, ensuring that he kept one hand on his sword, just in case. Aragorn shifted, trying to make himself comfortable.

_Neek-breek. Neek-breek. Neek-breek. Neek-breek. Neek-breek._

Aragorn threw an arm over his eyes and moaned in despair as the evil relatives of the cricket began their nightly serenade. _I __hate __this place._

"Is it too much to ask for some peace?" He inquired of no one in particular. His only answer was the continued neeking and breeking and thunder rumbling in the distance

Before sunrise the next morning, Aragorn was already up and about. The night's rest had given him almost no relief at all and he was almost as tired as he had been when he had gone to sleep. He munched discontentedly on some bread and cheese after checking on his wound. It had finally started to scab over.

According to the maps in Rivendell, it would take most of the day to get through the marshes as he had entered them about noon the previous day. Aragorn was determined to be rid of them as soon as possible though and set off at a brisk pace.

He went through many of the same ordeals and torments of the day before, but by traveling quickly, he was freed of the place by mid-afternoon. Very much relieved, he dug two apples and some cheese out of his pack as he journeyed on blessedly firm, dry, and grassy land.

He had traversed some miles before the clouds that had been threatening and growing more numerous finally released their shower. As the first drops splattered on his nose and about him, the ranger fixed his eyes on the smudged green of Chetwood in the distance and strode on, raising his hood.

As Aragorn walked, he reflected upon his meeting with Halbarad that had sent him this way. The elder ranger had sent him to make certain all was well about Bree and the Shire. Thus far, apart from the goblins in the Hills, it appeared to be so. When Halbarad had first given him the assignment, the new ranger had chewed on his lip and given a considering nod.

"You want me to wander throughout all of the Shire and surrounding country, stopping frequently and listening to the locals talk?"

A grin had tugged on the corners of Halbarad's grim mouth. "Yes, listen to the locals talk, but there is no need to zigzag all over the country. I have found that hobbits of the Shire visit Bree often. If you stop at one of Bree's inns, sit in a shadowy corner, and listen carefully, you'll hear the information you need. The Bree-folk are friendly and love to talk, as do the Shire hobbits. If anything noteworthy occurred, they'll tell you and greatly exaggerate the tale too. You just need to find out what's true and what's not, Aragorn. Now go get some sleep; you'll need it."

The rain was pouring down now in sheets. In the distance, blue chain lightning flashed followed several seconds later by the deep rumble of thunder. Aragorn pulled the cloak tighter around his body as a blast of cold wind fought to tear it from him.

"The only good thing about this," the Dunadan told himself, "is that it's washing away some of the grime on my clothes."

Nevertheless, by the time he reached the tree covering of Chetwood several hours later, he was soaked to the skin. The thunder and lightning had ceased some time ago, but the rain persisted, albeit not as heavily.

Aragorn rubbed a hand across his face tiredly. It had to be about nine o'clock at night by now and his last decent sleep had been over a week ago. He took some food out of his pack, deciding to continue for one more hour before calling it a day.

He hoped to reach the inn of the Prancing Pony by nightfall the following day by taking the most direct paths. Although there were other inns in the town, Halbarad had strongly suggested the Prancing Pony. According to him, it had good quality ale, so lots of townsfolk went there. Halbarad had also spoken in what amounted to praise coming from him, of the innkeeper. A grin threatened Aragorn's face, because according to Halabard, "Barney" was fat, ruddy, cheerful, and forgetful of all that did not involve the care of his guests or inn. Also, "If not for customers shouting his name at him, I doubt he'd remember it! All the Butterburs I've met had that vice."

Aragorn breathed in the rain-scented air pleasurably. A yawn forced its way out of his mouth. Deciding it was high time to rein in his musings and get some sleep; he put his things beside on old oak tree and sat with his back against it, eyelids heavy. He fell asleep almost immediately, something Elladan and Elrohir constantly called uncanny, while droplets fell about him.

The next dawn, the ranger awoke in a much better mood, helped along by the fact it had stopped raining sometime during the night. After a heartier breakfast than he had had the day before, he set off at a brisk pace; his wound completely scabbed over by now.

As he strode along the paths and began to encounter fellow travelers, he noticed that they gave him dark and suspicious looks and gave him as wide a berth as possible without going off the road.

A few scattered dwellings of those who wished to keep as far away from the towns of Bree, Archet, Combe, and Staddle as they could appeared at far distances from each other. In one of the yards, three hobbit children were playing gleefully. Aragorn watched them with amusement until they spotted him. Instantly, their fun ceased and they backed away several steps, watching him with fear in their wide, innocent eyes.

One of the little girls hid behind her older brother and Aragorn's sharp ears caught her soft question. "Is the evil ranger going to hurt us, Will?"

Will squeezed his sister's hand in reassurance. "Of course not. 'E wouldn't dare with Mummy and Dad 'ome."

Those words, coupled with the terror in the children's eyes, hurt him more than he cared to admit. He lowered his gaze and quickened his pace, the hobbits' conversation rebounding about his head.

"How many people do ya think 'e's killed?"

"More 'n you or I could count, I warrant."

"Why does he wear such a dark cloak?"

"To disappear quickly after wrong doings."

"Did you see his cold eyes?"

"Yes, made me shiver they did."

Aragorn bit his lip, even more keenly aware of the actions of the passer-bys now. He was glad of the deep shadows his hood cast on his face so that they could not see the pain their reactions caused.

The woodlands became more tamed and he began to see fields stretching over acres. The blue sky was spotted with grey clouds and chilling breezes played with the ends of his cloak. Anar sank into the west, making Aragorn squint his eyes against the blinding light.

He reached the gate to Bree as Anar started to set with subtle pinks and oranges. Aragorn paused to admire the tinted clouds before knocking on the gate. _Though, _he studied the wall enclosing most of the town, _I could easily climb over this if I wanted to._

Minutes ticked by with no sign of the gate opening anytime soon. Aragorn knocked harder, listening intently for the gatekeeper. A door banged and heavy footsteps rang on the street. The sound of a latch being lifted was followed by the opening of the gates by a chubby old man who smelt strongly of beer, onions, and cheese. Aragorn had to stop himself from wrinkling his nose in disgust as the smell assailed his nostrils. When the gatekeeper saw it was a ranger he had kept waiting, he stepped aside quickly. Aragorn nodded to him as he passed and out of the corner of his eye, saw him visibly shudder before closing the door.

Thoughts of a real bed coupled with those of a good, hot supper filled the ranger's mind as he walked through the streets. The townspeople were finishing up their work for the day and heading home. A few men lingered where they were, no doubt intending to go drinking. Their stares made his skin itch with discomfort.

From the open door of a blacksmith's shop came a rough voice. "Where're you goin' in such a hurry, Longshanks?"

The comment was swiftly followed by a scolding female voice. "Sssh, Dave, don't anger a ranger!"

The few folk Aragorn asked for directions from gave them tersely. As he looked after the retreating back of one such person, he wondered for the hundredth time that day what they held against rangers. Halbarad said they welcomed elves, dwarves, fellow men and fellow hobbits with open arms, why not rangers?

The sight of the swinging sign with its white prancing horse hanging in front of a fairly large inn with firelight shining in the windows, the sound of merry voices, and tempting odors was a welcome sight indeed. Without a moment's hesitation, he pushed open the door as someone began singing.

The room was had a good number of people in it, all eating, drinking, and having a good time. Servants dashed to and fro with tankards and food on wooden trays. A roaring fire on the far wall and torched in iron brackets cast flickering orange light on the room. At some tables, dwarves conversed with each other or shared news with the locals. Hobbits of the Shire spoke of small happenings or listened eagerly to others at others. The Bree folk paid attention to all and exchanged their news as well. No one noticed the ranger, whose dark cloak melded with the shadows.

Aragorn went to the long, narrow counter where he presumed guests signed in and reached for a small silver bell to ring for the innkeeper. A fat man with a perpetually smiling face saw him and called out as he went from table to table. "Just a moment, sir, if ya please! I'll be right with you!"

Leaving the bell untouched, Aragorn studied his surroundings until the man appeared in front of him, setting a tray on the counter and beaming at Aragorn. "Barnabas Butturbur, at you service! And what can I do for you, ranger?"

The young man was surprised that Barnabas had not flinched away from him, but he hid it. "A room for one night and some supper would be much appreciated."

"Ah, yes," the innkeeper drew a pad of paper and quill pen out of his pocket, "and would ye like an upstairs or downstairs room?"

"Downstairs." Aragorn said immediately, noticing that Barnabas handwriting was practically illegible and his spelling horrendous.

Barnabas nodded several times. "Very well, Trotter! Durgo will show you to it!" Turning aside, he yelled off the left. "Hi, Durgo! Show this gentleman his room!"

Putting his pad back in his pocket, Barnabas beamed once more at the ranger as shouts for more ale arouse. "Well, enjoy your stay, Trotter!"

Aragorn bristled at being called Trotter. But he curbed his irritation long enough to ask the innkeeper a question that had been bouncing about his mind since the beginning of their conversation. "I thought all here were suspicious of rangers?"

Picking up his tray, Barnabas winked at him. "Most are. But me? I don't care who 'tis wanting lodging at my inn so long as they pay for it!"

He rushed away just as a young hobbit appeared in front of Aragorn. "Right this way, sir!"

Durgo hurriedly led the man through the room and a straight hallway with minimal talk. Aragorn kept pace with him easily. He made a sharp right and stopped in front of the first door they came across, opening it swiftly. "Your room, sir!"

He looked about the room in satisfaction. A bed, some chairs, a wardrobe, and a table consisted of the furniture. A window was on the far wall, a small fireplace was built into the left wall, and a few unlit torches in brackets lined the walls. The hobbit went to the fireplace and deftly coaxed a flame to catch on the pile of timber.

Durgo stood and turned to him. "Is there any other way I can help you, sir?"

Aragorn shook his head. "No, thank you, Durgo."

At the dismissal, the hobbit darted out the door. Aragorn remained where he was, staring at the door in thought for several minutes before taking off his pack and throwing it onto the bed. He took two of the torches and lit them from the fire before replacing them in their previous locations. The man punched the mattress of the bed and grinned. No sleeping on the cold hard ground tonight!

The ranger wondered what his foster father and foster brothers were doing now in Rivendell. And Arwen, as well.

Arwen.

A dreamy smile crossed his face at the thought of the beautiful daughter of Elrond. She was the fairest elf maiden he had ever seen. Her voice fell like crystal notes of music when she had first talked to him. He recalled having called her Tinuviel and how she had laughingly accepted his proud declaration of his lineage and his mother's and Elrond's warnings. The smile faded. He hoped he would not have to wait many years before becoming king, but his heart told him he would have to.

And meanwhile, people gave him spiteful names like Trotter.

He changed into a cleaner outfit, and then went to see to his grumbling stomach.

OoOoOoOoO

With a sigh of contentment, Aragorn pushed back his chair and leaned back. Though not as flavorful as elven fare, the food was definitely better than what he had been eating in the Wilds. He lit his pipe and put his feet on the table. Elrond would have been very disapproving if he had seen him.

The ranger observed the space from his position in a shadowy corner. Thus far, he had not heard anything that might be a cause for concern. He puffed away on his pipe happily.

A billow of dark cloth caught his eye and he glanced towards the door to the inn. A tall, lithe figure stood there, features concealed by the shadows cast by his hood. Barnabas went over to him, asking how he could help him. The figure responded in a voice too soft to be heard by Aragorn. The innkeeper shook his head and gestured towards Aragorn. Faint light on the newcomer's face showed the thin white line of his pressed together lips. Steel eyes scrutinized the ranger before he answered what had apparently been a question from Barnabas. The innkeeper nodded and snapped his fingers before hurrying away.

The person turned to Aragorn's corner and strode through the room with the grace of a panther. Aragorn's eyes caught the flash of light on steel beneath his cloak. The ranger dropped one hand to his belt, ensuring that his sword was in a position to be drawn. People moved out of the newcomer's way hastily as his bright eyes fixed on the ranger, sending shivers down the man's spine and goose bumps running up and down his arms. The person stopped in front of Aragorn's table. Aragorn's muscles tensed, ready for a confrontation. Striving to appear nonchalant, he lowered the pipe from his mouth. "May I help you?"

A low melodious voice with a thick Silvan accent emitted from the hood. "May I sit here since all other tables have groups of people at them?"

Aragorn nodded tersely, somewhat surprised to hear an elven voice. "Very well."

He eyed the elf with caution as he sat down. The elf ignored his gaze and lowered his hood, revealing a fair face with grey eyes and a head of coppery hair. The Silva raised an eyebrow as the man continued to stare. "Yes?"

"You're a Wood Elf?" The question burst out.

The elf raised his eyebrow higher. "And you're a ranger."

Feeling foolish, he blew out a puff of smoke and watched it drift upwards. His companion made an expression of displeasure and twisted away. Barnabas appeared with a small tankard before Aragorn could open his mouth again.

"Here's your wine, Master Elf!"

The elf accepted the wine graciously and Barnabas rushed on to his next customers. He took a long slow sip and leaned back in satisfaction.

A Wood Elf from Mirkwood. He probably knew the twins' good friend Prince Legolas then. Aragorn decided to get some information about Legolas' welfare for his "brothers". It had been almost a year since he had left Rivendell and he was sure they would appreciate news of their friend along with his other tales when he returned. Aragorn took his feet off the table and put them on the floor, his chair slamming back onto four legs. "Sir, I'd like to ask-"

He hesitated as the elf faced him with a cocked head. "Do you know Prince Legolas?"

His companion's lips quirked and a queer gleam entered his eye. "I did."

"Did?"

Gesturing to his hood, the elf stated. "It would be easier to talk if your face were not hidden by shadow."

Curious as to where this was going, Aragorn obliged and raised his eyebrows. The elf appeared reluctant to start talking. He shot a glance at Aragorn, then stared into his tankard.

_Why is he hesitating? What is he hiding? _Aragornfrowned, taking a sip of his beer.

"The prince is dead."

Aragorn choked on his drink and set the cup down before he spilled it. He managed to cough out, "What did you say?"

The Silva traced a pattern on the handle of his tankard. "Prince Legolas is dead."

Unable to believe this shocking revelation, Aragorn gave the elf a barrage of questions after recovering himself. "What happened? How did he die? Are you sure it was Legolas? When did this happen?"

His companion gazed into his wine, sadness touching his eyes. "I can only tell you what I know and was told. Prince Legolas had led a patrol to take care of some orcs and wargs near the Mountains of Mirkwood. Apparently, he was separated from his patrol during the fight. They found him afterwards lying on the outskirts of the fight with a broken skull that had killed him instantly. This happened about ten years ago, I think. Every elf in Mirkwood was sorely grieved by his death. He was well loved."

Sorrow filled Aragorn even though he had never met the elf prince. Elladan and Elrohir had told him many tales of the escapades they and the royal triplets of Mirkwood had gotten into when they were elflings. All three had sounded like they had an excellent sense of humor and were wonderful friends and Aragorn had been looking forward to meeting them. But there was one thing in the Wood Elf's account….

"Did they hear anything? It seems like they would have heard his skull crack and a cry of pain, perhaps."

The elf shrugged. "They never told me."

Silence fell over the pair. The inn was emptying by now; it was late. Neither paid much attention to this as they were both lost in thought. The elf continued to stare into his beverage while Aragorn tapped his chin with his fingers, pondering the elf's tale. He tried to think it over carefully, but his sluggish mind refused to work properly. He really needed some rest.

"I'm going to Mirkwood," he said resolutely, deciding he would think this over later. The elf's head snapped up in surprise. "I have to know what really happened." _I owe it to Elladan and Elrohir._

He stood and turned to leave, but faced the elf again as a thought struck him. "I am sorry for not having introduced myself earlier. I am Estel of the Dunedain."

His companion dipped his head. "It is a…pleasure to make your acquaintance, Estel. I am Cossidh of the Woodland Realm."

Aragorn retired to his rooms, eagerly looking forward to a good night's sleep. He threw himself on the bed and swiftly fell asleep, not bothering to take off his cloak and boots.

He arose a short time after dawn, much refreshed. He set the rumpled sheets on the bed to rights; they were the only things in the room he had disturbed. Then, grabbing his pack, he left the room.

Butterbur was cleaning tabletops when he entered the room. The chubby man beamed at his guest. "Good mornin', Trotter! Leavin' without breakfast? You know I can arrange a meal for you, if ya like. This mornin' we're having hotcakes with dried fruit and hot butter, porridge—with honey, if ya like-, an' bacon an' eggs-" Aragorn shifted impatiently, "with good, fresh biscuits."

"Thank you, but I'm afraid I have to turn down the offer." Aragorn shot the doorway a meaningful glance.

Taking the hint, Barnabas ambled to the counter, chatting the whole time. Aragorn only listened vaguely as he counted out his coins and paid the innkeeper. With a cheerful "Have a nice day now, Trotter!", he went back to work.

_Trotter indeed. _He thought indignantly as he stepped out into the strengthening sunlight.

"Ready to go?"

Aragorn started at the voice and whipped around to see Cossidh leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at him with one elegant eyebrow raised. His eyes fell to the pack by the elf's feet.

"I'm going alone."

Cossidh straightened and picked up his pack. "Have you ever been to Mirkwood before?"

Aragorn frowned. "No, but-"

"Then you'll need my help," the Wood Elf cut in smoothly. "I lived in Mirkwood, I know its dangers. Also, you seek to find out more about the prince's death, so it is my duty to accompany you. Besides, I was going back myself, so there's no point in us traveling separately."

_He has some good points._ "Very well."

Cossidh gave a slight smile. "Shall we go, then?"

OoOoOoOoOo

_Constructive criticism is golden. ;)_


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: **_See the Prologue._

**A/N: **_Sorry this chapter's late. I went to Arches National Park for the weekend and there was no internet connection in the cabin we stayed in. A big thank you goes out to Estel-hopeofmen, RosalieCullenHale1, Taryn Streambattle, Legolas Thranduilion, and iccle fairy for reviewing. It makes me so happy when I see your reviews in my inbox._

**Beta Reader**_**: **__Bobadoo_

_The OoOoOo indicates a change of scene or POV._

**~*Chapter Two*~**

It was early afternoon and the two companions had been traveling in silence broken only once in a while by one comment or another. Aragorn had made several attempts at conversation with Cossidh, but the elf replied shortly, preoccupied by listening to the talk of the trees only he could hear.

He shot a sideways glance at Cossidh. The elf's head was tilted and his eyes were narrowed slightly. Aragorn allowed his gaze to drop to the long dagger in the elf's belt and the small throwing knives alongside it. He wondered why this Mirkwood elf had no bow and quiver of arrows. After all, Thranduil's people were said to be great archers.

Both moved at the same pace and Aragorn had discovered that he was exactly the same height as, if not taller, than the elf.

_At this pace, we will be out of Chetwood just a few hours after nightfall,_Aragorn reflected.

Aragorn tried to imagine what the forest might look like through a wood elf's eyes. He breathed in the aromas of the various trees and damp earth, spying several purple crocuses in the grasses. Robins chirped to and fro in the leafy boughs overhead. Leaves rustled as a light zephyr blew gently. A sense of peace spread through the ranger as he quietly observed his surroundings.

Therefore, when Cossidh spoke, it came as a surprise to Aragorn.

"Are we going through Imladris or passing it by?"

Considering the inquiry, Aragorn shrugged one shoulder. "We could go through. I know what time might be lost by going there can be made up for by asking for horses. Lord Elrond is sure to let us use them if we ask."

"I see. You know Lord Elrond?" Cossidh actually appeared interested in what the ranger had to say.

"Yes. I know him and all the elves of Rivendell well. They are like family to me." Aragorn smiled wistfully at the thought of the elf haven he had grown up in.

"What is Imladris like? I have never been there before, as far as I can recall."

Aragorn was surprised by this, but was happy to tell the elf of his childhood home. He briefly described it and its people to the attentive wood elf. Cossidh chewed on his cheek, a curious expression on his face, interrupting ever once in awhile with a question, but mostly held his peace.

After he finished his short description, Aragorn turned puzzled eyes on Cossidh. "I have been told many times that elves have perfect recall, so why-"

"Most do," the Silva cut in shortly. The set of his jaw and light in his eyes warned Aragorn not to ask questions and they walked in silence, Aragorn's mind in turmoil.

They made camp at the edge of Chetwood as the stars twinkled overhead. Man and elf worked with barely a word to each other. There was an unspoken agreement not to make a fire, so both sat down and quietly ate their rations. Cossidh finished quickly and one-by-one inspected his long dagger and two throwing knives. There was no need for him to do so, because the blades were in perfect condition.

Aragorn unsheathed his sword and took an oiled rag from his pack. He polished the steel, watching the oil give it a dull gleam and finding a soothing quality in the action. His eyes flicked up to the elf, who was leaning against a poplar, examining the hilt of one of his knives. The ranger was itching to ask why the elf had no bow, but held his tongue. He _did _ask another question that had been bothering him since the previous night though.

"What is a wood elf doing so far from Greenwood?"

Cossidh ran his fingertip along the edges of his knife, drawing blood. "My business is my own, but if you must know, I was visiting friends in Mithlond. My family urged me to leave the darkness of Mirkwood for at least a short while."

_That makes sense._ Aragorn was saddened to hear an elf call the great forest Mirkwood, when all the wood elves that had ever visited Rivendell in his childhood had insisted on calling it Greenwood. _Is the situation there really so bad? One would think after the Necromancer's defeat, it would have lightened._

"Why do you not have a bow? I thought all…Mirkwood elves were archers." Aragorn cast an approving eye on his gleaming weapon and put the rag aside.

"I used to have a bow," the elf sighed, "but not anymore. It broke in a fight with some orcs and I have not been able to make a new one since then. Not enough time to when you are on the move." He held up the throwing knives. "These have been able to substitute well enough."

Once again, they lapsed into silence. Aragorn found the elven company comforting, but he longed for his 'brothers' or one of his fellow rangers to be there with him. Cossidh seemed perfectly content to remain silent.

_What is Mother doing now?_

Gilraen had always been there for him, to listen to his frustrated, sorrowful, or happy comments, to comfort him, to warn him, to give him advice, to tell him about his father…She had been the first he had told his love of Arwen to. He hoped she was not worried about him being in the Wilds.

Cossidh stood and returned his knives to their sheaths. "I will take the first watch," he said as he climbed easily into the poplar.

Letting out a breath, Aragorn lay down and wrapped his cloak around himself before drifting into sleep.

OoOoOoOo

The week passed by swiftly. The two travelers refrained from conversation as much as possible, helped along by the fact Cossidh was disinclined to start any talk himself, but there were the occasional questions and every so often they would speak of trivial things when the boredom set in. Neither revealed anything of value to the other.

Cossidh always insisted on taking the first watch and if Aragorn disregarded the elf's demand and took it himself, the Silva would stay awake the whole time either gazing at the stars or talking to trees.

Occasionally, Cossidh would make some remark on the superiority of elves just to start some banter, but that was rare. Aragorn decided that he had a very dull and stoic companion.

While they journeyed in the flat, grassy plains beyond the Weather Hills, Aragorn's mind kept returning to Legolas' 'death' over and over again and the query of whether the elves had heard a crack or not. He bit his lip. _I wish I knew the answer._

The endless circles his mind was going in were making him frustrated. To distract himself, he turned to Cossidh.

"How well did you know Prince Legolas?"

OoOoOoOo

_"How well did you know Prince Legolas?"_

Cossidh considered the inquiry and chewed on his cheek as fuzzy memories flashed through his mind, though the faces were blurred, he distinguished the elves' features: he and Thranduil's son clinking glasses of wine together at an autumn feast, laughing at the antics of Titton and Tathar as they imitated drunken humans singing a drinking song; he and the prince pondering the moves of the enemy and planning their next moves on a map of the great forest; he and the prince dodging and doing their best to avoid starry-eyed ellith

"Well enough," he replied, deciding that was a good enough answer for the _adan._

Estel raised an eyebrow, apparently not impressed with the answer.

Cossidh quirked his lips and amended, "Well enough to call him a friend."

"What was he like?"

_Does the_adan_'s supply of questions ever diminish?_ Cossidh wondered. He drew in a deep breath filled with the scents of young plants before a somber and wistful mood descended upon him as he called up faint images of Thranduil's son. "He was quiet, never speaking a word unless he had to, and stern. He never liked being contradicted. He did not care much for reading, but preferred to be leading patrols or practicing with his weapons. As with all of the Royal family, he did his best to conceal what wounds he might receive in battle from others. He had the king's temper and would always seek reprisals. A fierce and interesting elf prince indeed."

Casting a look at his companion, Cossidh let out an exasperated breath at the sight of Estel's furrowed brows. Estel stroked the hilt of his sword, frowning. "That's not how Elladan and Elrohir described him."

Raising an eyebrow, the wood elf turned his attention back to the lands ahead. _Indeed? I wonder what those twin terrors have been telling you..._He kept a faintly disinterested expression on his face and chose to refrain from commenting aloud.

_I almost wish we encountered some orcs on this venture. At least that would provide more excitement than this inquisitive ranger._

OoOoOoOo

Cossidh felt pleasure rippling through him when they reached the outskirts of the Trollshaws. They were not planning on going directly through the wood, just along the edges, but it was so good to be amongst trees!

Breezes played with the leaves and branches creaked as they waved. Squirrels paused on their errands to observe elf and man before chattering loudly and disappearing into the boughs. The trees rustled in greeting and the elf smiled. The Song here was rich and peaceful, not very deep and not very high either. A faster and energetic theme was caused by the squirrels and the birds' was light and melodious.

The wood elf paused and laid a long slender hand on the trunk of an aspen. The tree thrummed with delight at his touch and responded to his happiness in a faint whisper. _Welcome, Sir Elf. It is long since one of your kind has sought to converse with one of us here._

Allowing his eyelids to close, Cossidh brushed a strand of light hair away from his face. _Indeed. It is a pity none of my people dwell here. You are all very courteous._

A hum of appreciation rose from the trees. The aspen dipped a slender bough. _You are too kind. But I fear we are delaying you. Your companion does not seem very happy._

Cossidh opened his eyes and saw Estel standing a few feet away with an expression the elf could not interpret on his face out of the corner of his eye. _Yes, I do have to leave now. It was a pleasure to speak with you._

He let his hand drop from the bark of the aspen and turned to Estel, who was watching him with that odd expression, a mixture of amazement, disbelief, and long-suffering. "Yes?"

The ranger shook his head and started walking again. Cossidh caught up with him swiftly. Estel looked at him and seemed to be gathering his thoughts. "What is it like? Talking to trees."

"I suppose it is just like me talking to you or someone else." Cossidh answered with a touch of mirth.

"I mean...," Estel lifted a shoulder, "How do they talk? What are they like? Personality wise."

"It varies for each tree. They are just as different from each other as one elf or man is to another. Some, like the aspen, are soft spoken. Others, like the pine, have very deep and intense sentiments. Some trees are very cheerful and merry, but others are somber and quiet. Unfortunately, there are also trees with evil intents that will lull you to sleep while danger is near or do everything in their power to slow you when fighting or fleeing. The majority of trees, however, seek the happiness of others." Cossidh smiled as a murmur of agreement rose from around him.

The ranger nodded. "I see. Can wood elves talk to the earth and stones too?"

"That is the dwarves' specialty." He sniffed in disdain at the mere mention of dwarves. "However, yes. To some extent, we elves can indeed talk to the earth and stones."

Cossidh observed the young man's reactions and was displeased at the frown his contemptuous tone when speaking of the dwarves had brought on. Apparently, they differed on their opinions of the _naugrim._

As they went on, he let his mind wander and spoke with each of the trees indirectly with a sense of deep satisfaction with the trees and some irritation at the ranger.

OoOoOoOo

Aragorn stumbled over a rut in the ground, but deftly regained his feet with almost elvish speed. He thought he heard a soft laugh from Cossidh, but was not entirely certain. The elf seemed to delight in making the few times Aragorn was clumsy bigger than they were. Though he had not shown it, Aragorn knew the wood elf was probably still surprised a human could move with a grace and balance close to the elves.

He chose to ignore Cossidh and not let him dampen his good mood. In a few hours, they would reach the borders of Rivendell. Aragorn was anticipating the reunion with his mother, Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Lindir, Glorfindel, Gloraelin…Basically all the elves. Especially Arwen.

_I hope Elladan and Elrohir are at Rivendell and not hunting orcs as they do so frequently._

Aragorn hefted his pack higher on his shoulder and looked at the surrounding rocky landscape with trees scattered hither and thither, thinking of the lush gardens of Rivendell.

It was interesting how after walking for a length of time, he fell into the rhythm and could continue for hours. He snorted softly when he realized he thought that every time he had nothing else to do and was out venturing.

They breasted a rise several hours later and Aragorn was pleased to see the sun lighting the valley. The graceful trees rose up from the ground with a stately air, flowers of gold, lilac, rose, turquoise, ivory, and orange were all growing with amazing vitality and looked perfect in every section they were in, vines twined around elegant white trellises and tree trunk. Silver streams wound their way through the valley with the sun reflecting off their diamond waters. The rocks and waterfalls were touched by the golden rays and the mists rising from the base of each waterfall added an ethereal quality to the haven. The pastel buildings were built around the trees, some having them growing through them, so as not to impede nature.

Aragorn sighed happily as sweet bird song met his ears and grinned at Cossidh's awed expression.

"Welcome to Rivendell."

OoOoOoOo

_Next chapter, we find out what's going on in Mirkwood. Should be interesting. As always, Constructive criticism is very much appreciated._


	4. Chapter Three

_**AN: **__Sorry this chapter's so late. Real Life has been a killer. It was rather fun to write though. ^^ A big Thank You to all who added this to their Story Alerts/Favorites and especially to Legolas Thranduilion, Taryn Streambattle, RosalieCullenHale1, Slayer3, iccle fairy, Mystery Maiden 016, and Alya Thranduiliell for reviewing. It makes me very happy._

_**Beta Reader: **__Bobadoo_

_**Disclaimer: **__See the Prologue_

**~*Chapter Three*~**

_In Mirkwood…_

The trees were shadowed, gnarled, and gloomy. There was no birdsong here, just the rustling of the undergrowth as various creatures went on their way. The undergrowth was spiked with cruel barbs and the soft leaves of ferns and bushes were scattered about randomly. The air was somewhat stagnant and the entire atmosphere was depressing.

Elven warriors went from tree to tree swiftly. They seldom came into this part of the forest and were anxious to return to the much more cheerful woods around the Elvenking's Realm. The grunts in Black Speech and foul odor signified that their prey was near. The elves' sharp eyes pierced the gloom and saw the orcs treading heavily towards the borders of the kingdom.

Princess Merillas watched them calculatingly. She looked up and signaled for the warriors the move into position. Five elves went ahead, nocking arrows in preparation for the ambush. Merillas drew a shaft out of her quiver and laid it against the wood of her bow.

The orcs continued trotting towards the now visible outpost in the distance. Visible to the elves in the trees, not the orcs. The elves moved quietly right above the foul beasts, shooting glances back at Merillas for her signal to attack.

She nocked the shaft and drew it back. Around her, the ten elves followed suit. The creaking of the bows was masked by the orcs' soft grunts, though one or two paused to stare about alertly. The elf princess released, sending the arrow through the air with a hiss to thud into the back of an orc. Hardly one second after the arrow was released; the other archers let their arrows fly. With hands that moved faster than sight, the patrol nocked and released another set, sending more orcs dead to the earth.

Growling in their horrid language, the orcs stood with their weapons ready, glancing about the trees quickly and nervously. One mistake they had been making lately was that they only had a few archers with them and the elves were always sure to take them out first.

Merillas felt a grim satisfaction to see the orcs topple over lifeless. She reached behind her shoulder for another arrow and felt that the supply was dwindling. One thing she had learned over the course of several patrols was that it would be unwise to use all of the twenty arrows in one's quiver in one attack in case they were assaulted on the way back to the palace. Leaving the arrow, Merillas drew her white dirk out of her quiver. With quick movements, she slid her bow into the quiver and took a small throwing dagger out of its sheath at her waist.

Several elves continued to fire while the others unsheathed their blades for close combat. The elven princess gave a short whistle and all ceased fire. As one, she and her patrol dropped lightly out of the trees, blades flashing as they cut down the orcs nearest to them.

Eyes hard and cold, Merillas slit the throat of an orc, curling her lip in disgust as its black blood stained her blade and it gurgled its life away. Spinning swiftly, she brought her weapons up to block a swing from one of the monsters, throwing dagger supporting her dirk. The orc growled and swung at her neck, but Merillas ducked under the blade and plunged her dagger into his heart.

An intense pain erupted in her shoulder and she let out a hiss, cursing herself for not hearing the beast approach. Merillas slammed her blade into the gut of the orc that had appeared where the one she had just slain had stood and spun about. Her eyes narrowed when she saw no orcs behind her. Hearing a sword slicing through the air behind her, she twisted, going into a crouch and slit open the stomach of the beast.

The princess winced; her entire right arm was disabled due to the fact the blade protruded from both sides of her shoulder. _This will be impending._

The orcs saw her weakness and pressed about her, eager for the kill. Merillas had difficulty fighting alone and found herself dodging blades from several directions and blocking attacks with her dagger and the hard leather of her arm braces. She grunted as she stumbled, but managed to turn the stumble into a defensive spin, sweeping one leg out under the feet of several orcs, making them trip.

"Merillas!"

The Sinda smiled at the call and felt another elf press against her back. Merillas adjusted her stance and kicked an orc in front of her in the kneecap, cutting his throat. Glancing about at the battle, Merillas was pleased to see that they were winning and there were only a few orcs left as seemed to happen with much more frequency lately.

Punching one of the monsters in the nose with the hilt of her dirk, she quickly followed it up with a sweep of the blade to cover her right arm. Merillas felt a grim smirk tug at her lips as it fell, but looked about, senses keyed, for more of the beasts. When she could not see or sense any, the Sinda stepped away from the elf who had protected her back and turned, inclining her head in thanks. He nodded in acknowledgement and set to cleaning his sword, but cast a worried glance at her shoulder.

"Do not worry for me, Tathar, I am fine," Merillas waved him aside and went to check on the welfare of the rest of her patrol. As she turned her back, Merillas heard Tathar snort softly, mumbling about the stubbornness of the Royal Family.

Two elves were walking amongst the bodies of the orcs, making sure they were all dead and killing those who were not. Merillas approached them, appraising them for injuries. Apart from a few wounds, they were unscathed. One of the warriors dipped her head as Merillas joined them, kicking the body of one of the beasts. Her companion knelt beside a still moaning orc and ended its agony efficiently.

"Are you unharmed?" Although she could see no serious injuries, Merillas wanted to hear from their own mouths that they were alright.

Both elves responded together unconsciously. "I am fine."

Nodding, Merillas went on to the other seven elves scattered over the battle area, receiving similar answers from each of them and worried comments about her shoulder. One Silva, who was in training as a healer, insisted on removing the blade and binding the injury before going anywhere. She reluctantly agreed.

He had a young elf called Morveru hold her still despite her protests. She heaved a sigh of frustration. Morveru, who was bashful around any lady, blushed slightly at the sight of her displeased face. "Sorry," he muttered.

The healer took the blade's hilt and pulled it out abruptly. Merillas hissed and jerked in pain. Morveru instantly took a strip of cloth and applied pressure to the wound. Biting her lip, Merillas struggled to steady her uneasy breathing.

"That is quite a lot of blood, my lady." Morveru said as he watched the blood stain her tunic. Merillas felt like making a sarcastic comment in response, but the healer spoke first.

"Indeed it is, Morveru. And how long were you planning on keeping that unattended, _princess_?" He raised an eyebrow as he bound her shoulder tightly.

The Sinda forced a smile, replying with what she hoped was an innocent air. "What makes you think I would do that, Titton?"

Titton shook his head ruefully and tied a knot in the material. "Past experience and family habits, perhaps?"

Merillas seized that bit of information. "Ah, then I am hardly to blame for something my brothers-er…indulge in as well."

The talk ceased when they received their first real look at the dagger, now that the blood had been cleaned off by a dutiful elleth, Tavaril.

Tavaril held up the blade and furrowed her brow at the designs upon it. Merillas felt a thrum of anticipation at Tavaril's expression and her eyes automatically flicked to the weapon.

It was of elvish design, but had obvious mannish and orcish influences. The blade was made of metal humans used, but had orc runes in elvish style and had the graceful curve most elf blades possessed. The hilt was more like that of a human's dagger and had geometric patterns.

_Peculiar. Very. _Merillas arched an eyebrow at the weapon before standing and resuming control over the patrol. "We shall return to the palace now, unless we wish to encounter more unsavory creatures. This," she jerked her chin towards the unique dagger, "shall be inspected more thoroughly there. Let us go."

She swiftly sheathed her weapons and joined her warriors in retrieving their arrows and cleansing them of gore before placing them back in their quivers. The party finished the job quickly and scaled the trees.

Taking a sharp breath, Merillas steadied herself on a branch, pain throbbing in her shoulder. Determinedly, she led the way through the trees, doing her best with her left arm. The question of the dagger and its owner revolved in her mind the entire time as she sought the solution unsuccessfully.

With wry resignation, she noticed that Titton stayed close by her, a displeased expression on his face. _Disregard the dangers on the forest floor,_Merillas thought, leaping from an oak to a birch in the lightening and more graceful forest as they traveled into the elven realm. _Titton would no doubt have me walk if he could make me._

It was such a joy to hear a robin sing after having been in the ever-oppressing darkness outside of the kingdom. Although the kingdom itself was rather gloomy as well, it grew more beautiful and more like how a true wood should be the closer one got to the palace. The sound of the river's rushing waters reached their ears and the elves became less tense, but still very alert. The aroma of wild roses and hawthorn blossoms drifted on the faint breeze and Merillas' usually stern face brightened slightly at the sight at the sight of a glossy black butterfly flitting about daintily.

They passed over, under, and around lovely, but fortified flets situated like flowers in the terraces that were spread out at a good distance from each other, but close enough not to make them too prone to attacks.

At a nod from the Sinda, the novice warrior Tavaril went ahead to inform the king of the patrol's return. The princess knew he would be pleased to hear that—yet again—they had bested the remaining highly trained brutesthat had served the Necromancer before his defeat. She lightly brushed the petals of a flower on a tulip tree with her fingertips as she passed it. The forest seemed as happy as the elves that they had won the skirmish. _If only…No!_Merillas cut herself off sharply. _I am not going to think of Legolas. I am__**not.**_

She had been shocked at the death of her brother and found her eyes pooling with tears every time she thought of him. To try and quench the pain, she forbade herself to think of him. But the reminder of the fact he was gone was enough to send her into a somber mood.

With bunched jaw muscles, Merillas looked at the upcoming bridge which led across the river to the enchanted gate to the palace and felt a sense of relief. As leery as she was of healers, she would at least try to spirit away some pain-killing herbs from the healing halls. If she managed to slip away from the hyper-vigilant Titton, anyways. Which, the elf took in his face out of the corner of her eyes, would not be easy.

Jumping out of a hawthorn, Merillas landed softly on the grass and strode towards the bridge. The rest of the patrol followed suit. The river was in full flow, running over its bed with more ferocity than normal, due to the melted snow from the mountains. Its brown waters almost reached the bottom of the bridge.

She laid a hand on the elaborate, enchanted gate in the wall surrounding the palace and murmured the words to open it under her breath. It opened outwards swiftly and Merillas stepped back to avoid being struck by it.

The elves passed through the gate quickly before it closed again. The princess dismissed them with a flick of her hand and headed for the main entrance to the palace with, of course, Titton trailing her.

Celeblas was standing in the courtyard and as soon as he saw her, walked over. He fell in step beside her, passing a quick eye over his shoulder. "My lord is in a meeting with men of Dale. How fared your patrol, my lady?"

"Well. Few are injured and these are trivial unless the orcs poisoned their blades. The orc company was defeated." Merillas tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Do you have an estimate for how long this meeting will last, my lord?"

The siblings paused while guards opened the door to the palace for them. They held it open and saluted stiffly as the trio resumed walking into the magnificent palace.

"The meeting just began and should last a while," Celeblas said, obviously not too happy with that fact.

Merillas nodded, quirking her lips. "The orcs attempted to take an outpost. They were not heavily armed and had few archers," she reported to him since she could not to her father. "However…we did find something rather…odd."

Gesturing for Titton to show the unique dagger, Merillas watched her brother's face. Titton took it out of his quiver and held it out for inspection. Celeblas picked it up and scrutinized it, frowning as his sister continued. "This hit me in the shoulder while I was fighting, but there were no orcs behind me.

The prince lifted the dagger to eye level, examining every detail carefully. "This is most interesting."

The trio halted in front of a tapestry. Merillas shifted her weight from one foot to another, the throbbing of her shoulder getting on her nerves. Titton watched the crown prince. They took little notice of passer-bys. Finally, Celeblas looked up, puzzlement in his eyes. "Have either of you seen anything like this before?"

Princess and healer both shook their heads. Celeblas sighed and raised his eyebrows, caressing the smooth hilt with his thumb. "Neither have I. This will bear researching. Although, somehow, I do not think that will solve anything."

Placing the dagger through his belt on the opposite side of his sword, Celeblas met his sister's gaze. "I must attend to other duties now. You, sister, should have that shoulder taken care of."

Bowing slightly, he turned on his heal and strode off.

Groaning inwardly, Merillas rolled her eyes as Titton said sternly, "I am sure you heard Prince Celeblas just as well as I did, my lady. So, will you come to the healing halls willingly now?"

"Alright. If it will make _you_happy," the elleth replied sarcastically, smoothing a crease in her tunic. Even though she hated healers, it would be nice for the pain to lessen.

Titton gave a half-smile of triumph and led her to the healing halls.

oOoOoOoOo

Merillas left the healing halls with a freshly bandaged shoulder, arm in sling, a clean tunic, and an annoyed air. The healers has insisted that she refrain from leading patrols until her shoulder had healed and suggested she do paperwork while recuperating instead. And Merillas detested paperwork.

She stroked the white cloth of the bandage with a fingertip as she wandered through the halls, reluctant to work, but restless to do so at the same time. The princess decided to head for the gallery of portraits of the Royal Family, landscapes, and a few childish pictures done by the princes and princess when they were elflings. As she wound her way through the corridors, the number of elves in the hallways dropped. Most were too busy to spend time there and preferred to be in the palace gardens or with family members in their leisure time anyways.

Paying little attention to the tapestries depicting battles and scenes from the past, elaborate scrollwork on the pillars, and exquisite furniture and wall decorations, Merillas opened the door to the gallery with her left hand and closed it softly behind herself.

The gallery was lit by soft golden light from several high, arched windows during the day and the steady glow of torches during the night. Paintings and charcoal and ink drawings of assorted shapes and sizes hung in patterns on the stone walls. Their frames were made of both common and rare woods with designs of flowers, vines, and scrollwork decorating them. Small trees and delicate shrubbery were placed accordingly about the hall in their beautiful pots.

Glancing at one or two drawings done by her and her brothers when they were elflings, Merillas winced at one rather sloppy picture depicting the king and the queen with lopsided features. _I never was a good artist._

Merillas paused in front of a professional portrait of her mother. The queen was in her favorite garden, a bouquet of blue columbines held in her lap. Her soft green eyes gazed out lovingly at the viewer, her exquisite features aglow with joy. Long mahogany hair fell down her back like a waterfall topped by her golden circlet. A pine green gown with golden embroidery brought out the hue of her eyes. The queen was seated on the grass that sparkled with dew, violets and bluebells around her. The background was blurred to keep the focus on the beautiful elleth. Engraved on the cherry frame in gold was her name, Eruvarde.

Sighing, Merillas gazed at the painting sadly for long moments, letting memories run their course through her mind. When she turned away, she saw with a start that she was no longer alone. Ithilwen, her cousin, was standing at the other end of the hall, tears running down her pale cheeks as she stared up a charcoal drawing. The princess walked down to her, looking first at the dark-haired elleth clad in a soft blue dress, then at the picture.

The Sinda let out a slow breath, instantly seeing the cause for Ithilwen's tears. The casual drawing showed Celeblas, Legolas, and Ithilwen's brother, Cossidh, with their arms about each others' shoulders, laughing. Even though it was sketchy, the artist had managed to capture the happiness of the young elves perfectly. Their hair and faces were lit by sunlight, Merillas' brothers' hair shining like gold and the coppery hints in Cossidh's like fire. The fact that Cossidh and the princes were related was obvious despite some differences in their features and build.

Cossidh had been reported missing in action some time ago and it was feared he had been captured by orcs. His frail sister could scarcely even think of him without bursting into tears.

"Sssshh," Merillas drew her younger cousin into a one-armed hug, forcing her eyes away from the faces of Legolas and Cossidh. "Sssh. There is hope."

Ithilwen buried her face into Merillas' shoulder, shaking her head. Tears dampened the cloth as Ithilwen released a few hiccupping sobs. Rubbing her back, Merillas waited for the flood to slow.

When Ithilwen had shed most of her tears, she lifted her face, eyes shining with sorrow. "I miss him so much, Merillas. So much."

"I know," the princess who had been forced to become a warrior brushed away some of the elleth's tears in a motherly manner. "So do I." Her eyes began to sting, but she blinked the wetness away irately.

"Do you think…," Ithilwen hesitated, as if what she was about to ask was too much to hope for, "that Cossidh might…Still be alive? Somehow?"

Unable to deliver the crushing reply, Merillas just watched dustmotes dance in the pale sunlight. "I do not know, Ithilwen. I just…Do not know."

OoOoOoOoO

Celeblas closed the library door soundlessly behind himself. As soon as he had could, he had escaped from his duties to see if any of the weapons books or histories had mentioned a weapon akin to the one that had injured his sister. He had skimmed over them quickly, but carefully, only actually reading what looked like it might be useful. Nowhere was there anything that mentioned such a blade.

The elf prince made a face. As fascinating as the histories were, he wished they had said something similar to what he was looking for. That this was the first time such an odd blade had appeared was unsettling.

He headed for his study, deciding to ask other, older elves later. While Thranduil was in meetings, it was Celeblas' duty to do paperwork and tend to the needs of the people. He nodded to the elves that bowed as he passed, feeling relieved when he entered the privacy of his study. _Father may enjoy the attention, but I know I definitely do not._

He turned around to go to his desk. And found himself staring down an arrow aimed for his forehead. A pair of grey eyes he had thought never to see again stared at him steadily, a cold malice in their depths, the rest of the face cast into shadow by the hood of his cloak. As he gasped in shock, a light melodious voice said with a touch of amusement. "I would advise staying silent, brother. We do not want anyone to be alarmed, now do we?"

OoOoOoOo

_Oooh, a cliffie. :D Constructive Criticism is much appreciated._


	5. Chapter Four

_**A/N: **__Oh my gosh… Has it really been about a year since I last updated this? I'm so sorry! I'd flood you with excuses, but I doubt that you want to read them. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this! And a __**huge **__'Thank you!' goes out to Legolas Thranduilion, RosalieCullenHale1, iccle fairy, Taryn Streambattle, King Caspian the Seafarer, Danderil, Snowpaw, and The Pearl Maiden more reviewing! I love reading your opinions! And also to all who added this story to their Alerts/Favorites; I'm delighted that you like it that much!_

_Just a quick note, the time space between the Prologue and the first chapter has been lengthened to ten years, and in Cossidh's POV, Aragorn is referred to as Estel. The main reason for that last change is that I realized Aragorn wouldn't give out his real name so easily. ;)_

_**Disclaimer: **__See the Prologue_

**~*~Chapter Four~*~**

_Just inside the valley of Imladris…_

Snow glistened in the sunlight on the peaks of the mountains. Many different shades of green and brown marked where trees stood. Red, dull brown, white, and gray stone stood out between the patches of snow and forests. Cossidh's eyes, however, were not on the surrounding mountains or crystal-clear blue sky, but on the valley before him. Ignoring the strands of hair a cool breeze played with around his face, Cossidh stared at the graceful limbs of birches, beeches, aspens, poplars, and other kinds of trees, their various-hued bark and leaves lighted by the afternoon sun. Dapples fell on the soft green grass and undergrowth. Pale flowers blossomed on the trees while violets and clover showed their colors in the grass. Silvery water gurgled as brooks wound lazily through the valley. Distant thundering and rushing spoke of a river and waterfalls. Pastel buildings were beautifully constructed around nature, lovely carving all along the edges. The sunlight fell just so, making the city shine.

"Welcome to Rivendell." Estel's voice sounded proud and somewhat amused.

Cossidh just closed his eyes and listened to the chirping of the birds and rustling of the trees, a contented smile spreading across his face. It was good to be back in the peaceful valley. The elf opened one eye slightly. Wait…_Had_ he been here before? Perhaps. He let out a breath through his nose, wishing his memory was up to par.

He barely suppressed an urge to sing and dance as the trees called out soft greetings. Everything here was so _alive_. Forgetting himself momentarily, Cossidh laughed merrily, intoxicated with the wonder and glory of the realm. The birds responded to his laughter with sweet song and he grinned with pleasure.

Opening his eyes fully, the wood elf turned to Estel, still smiling slightly. "It is beautiful."

Estel grinned, his eyes betraying that he had been expecting to hear that. Without a word, he started forward into the valley. Cossidh followed, reflecting on how different Imladris and Mirkwood were. Despite King Thranduil's love of jewels and silver, the palace still showed that the elves were more accustomed to fighting, unlike this. Cossidh was willing to wager that when the Mirkwood elves feasted and danced, however, it would be more wild and exciting than the Noldor's celebrations.

A whistle sounded out, so akin to a birdsong that the Silva might have missed it if the wood elves had not used a similar method of signals. Estel had lengthened his stride at the whistle, an eager expression on his face. The wood elf let him take the lead and abandoned his comparisons, still gazing about in awe.

Humming a lively tune, Cossidh readily responded to Nature. The slight smile etched itself deeper into his face as he allowed himself to be freer than he had been in the last few weeks. Poking fun at the human's mistakes and the Trollshaws had been nice, yes, but this…This was amazing. An elven realm as it should be.

"One would think from your reaction that you had never been here before," a teasing voice in Sindarin said from above.

Startled, Cossidh instinctively drew a dagger and looked in the direction the voice had come from. An amused dark-haired elf sat on the limb of a birch and smirked at him, drawing a blade of his own and jumping to the ground. "Of course, if you desire to duel as a way of greeting, we could do that. Though it would be strange, wouldn't you agree?"

Sheathing his weapon and feeling foolish, he shook his head at the other elf's offer, wishing that he had restrained his former glee, responding in the same tongue stiffly. "No, thank you. And this is indeed my first time in Imladris, a fair realm indeed."

Cossidh felt Estel's eyes on him, but met the guard's gaze instead of facing the ranger. Putting away his knife as well, the brunette smiled cockily, but Cossidh caught puzzlement in his eyes as the other surveyed him. Finally, the Noldo raised a considering eyebrow. "Well, then welcome, if you wish to play at that game. I have the honor of being Pellain and you are fortunate to be graced with my presence." Estel chuckled at that. "It is long since any Mirkwood elf has visited us here."

"It is long since any Imladris elf has visited us in Mirkwood," the Silva returned wryly. "I am Cossidh. It is an…honor to make your acquaintance, Pellain."

Pellain's stare kindled with an understanding gleam and he flicked a stray hair back airily. "Ah. The Royal Family's cousin. That is why you look so much like them then."

The wood elf nodded in acquiesce, but Pellain had shifted his attention to Estel. He watched with a tint of amusement as the guard threw up his hands in mock-horror. "Ai! What have the Dunedain done to you, my good Estel? Ai! You look like a human now," he sniffed the air dramatically, "and a none too clean one at that! How could you have forgotten our teachings so quickly?"

The young man rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "It is good to see you again too, Pellain. Tell me, are Elladan and Elrohir here?"

Interest heightened, Cossidh waited for Pellain's answer, but was rather disappointed as the cocky Noldo shook his head. "Nay, they are hunting." His disapproving tone sent a clear message that he did not like Elladan and Elrohir's "hunting" and that he wanted his previous questions answered.

Hunting? Why would Pellain look down on hunting? There was no harm in it, unless one killed more than they needed. Surely, the sons of Elrond-_Oh._ The Silva realized as his mind supplied momentarily forgotten information. _The Lady Celebrian._ Evidently, the twins still felt as though they had not avenged themselves on orcs yet. His own mother a victim of wargs, Cossidh could sympathize with his friends' longing for retribution, but to hardly ever stay at Imladris and go chasing after trouble seemed a tab obsessive.

_Wait._ What was he thinking? Friends? He had only met the sons of Elrond briefly. Well…Friends of his cousins were friends of his and Legolas had definitely liked them. King Thranduil had not, really. But the king only worried for his sons' safety. After all, Elladan and Elrohir went _searching_ for servants of Sauron and his people only sought to free their realm from darkness.

Although the princes _did _have a tendency to—Cossidh frowned as an ache in his head let itself be known.

"—Lord Elrond?" His companions were looking at him expectantly.

Cursing himself in every language he knew, the wood elf decided to fumble his way through this impassively. "Yes," he said, hoping that that would do and wondering just what the question had been.

The ranger looked surprised, but pleased and the Noldo guard smirked approvingly. Estel adjusted his scabbard and nodded to the Imladris elf. "I suppose we will see you tonight then."

"Aye." With a final impetuous grin, Pellain disappeared into the birch.

Cossidh followed Estel as they continued and glanced up at Pellain in the tree. The casual observer would not have noticed him at first sight, but to the warrior, he was much too exposed.

The duo had barely gone five yards downhill when a strain of song reached their ears. Cossidh had to snicker at the long-suffering expression on the man's face. The Noldo was singing a song he was obviously making up as he went about dirty Dunedain and pristine elves in contrast.

The wood elf decided that Pellain had an excellent sense of humor.

After listening to the insulting song and the Dunadan's mutterings, the elf wondered what he had consented to. It had something to do with Lord Elrond…Perhaps he had agreed to spend a few days in the house of Lord Elrond, or to seek his aid, or simply to pass him by.

Not willing to admit to not having heard the quiry, the Silva fixed his steady gaze on the human's back and waited for him to say something.

After a while—Evidently Estel was able to tolerate elven stares better than most mortals-, the ranger began to squirm subtly. Rather amused, Cossidh hardened his gaze and focused even more on Estel's back. He could hear the trees laughing.

One sapling brushed his arm and he patted its bark, but did not turn his eyes away.

The Dunadan quickened his pace, but so did Cossidh. Estel started making use of the foliage to gain brief respite behind. The wood elf simply walked faster, holding back a laugh. Estel grunted in frustration and he caught the annoyed flare in the human's eyes as he looked back at him. "Yes?"

_Ah. So he has had enough, has he? _Cossidh did not answer, relishing the young man's discomfort and made his eyes even sterner.

"Elves," Estel grumbled.

He never broke the façade, but the elf's body was shaking with silent laughter. Oh, he had not had this much fun in months. Perhaps the air of the valley was affecting him.

The young man stopped and cleared his throat, quirking an exasperated brow at Cossidh and repeated. "Yes?"

The humor in the situation faded as the wood elf recalled what had happened the last time he had simply stared at a human silently. That had not ended well at all for any party present. Ashamed, he shook his red-gold head and shifted his gaze to green lichen on a rock. If the ranger felt the change of atmosphere, he gave no sign apart from a sigh and confused expression. They resumed walking.

Sensing his guilt, nature now tried to comfort him, but he refused politely, stoic expression back in place. Cossidh merely inquired of a maple what the question had been softly.

_They asked if you would like to stay for a while in the house of Lord Elrond,_ it replied after the answer was relayed to it. _Forgive me, but-_

_Thank you,_ Cossidh interrupted and turned away, thoughts in turmoil.

OoOoOoO

"My lord! My lord!"

Lord Elrond Peredhil turned away from the balcony where he had been relaxing and admiring his refuge, facing an excited young elf who was walking swiftly down the hallway towards him. Elrond noted his ever-so-slightly rumpled tunic and mussed hair which the elf smoothed absentmindedly, before meeting his eyes steadily.

The young one bobbed his head before announcing, "Estel has returned from the Wilds."

The Noldo was moderately surprised. Ever since he had told his foster-son that in order to marry Arwen, he would have to gain the throne of Gondor, the boy had gone back to the Dunedain with the intention of staying there until he had and only visit Imladris once in a while. The lord was in no way angry over his foster-son's very early return, only mildly surprised. Arwen still dwelled here, so perhaps that was one of the reasons for returning so soon after his departure.

"Is that all, Sadron?" He inquired, knowing very well that it was not from the eagerness pulsing off him.

Sadron gave his head a shake, eyes shining. "No, my lord. There is an elf with him; a Mirkwood elf, but he has no bow."

"Indeed? These are indeed interesting tidings. Thank you for alerting me, Sadron." Elrond said seriously. They had not heard any word from Thranduil's folk since before Estel's birth.

The self-appointed messenger bowed and went at a more stately pace towards the library. He would be reaching his prime soon and the normally quiet elf was getting rather excitable.

Elrond went back to the scenery, searching the valley with his keen eyes for any sign of the two travelers.

Ah, there they were, approaching the gate. He could see that Aragorn's ranger companions had succeeded in a few of their attempts to rid the youthful heir of Isildur of elven ways as they had been trying to do since he joined their numbers. He walked like a man, dressed like one, and also had picked up on their habits is his greasy hair was anything to judge by. Estel did not look very pleased.

Switching his focus to the Mirkwood elf, the peredhil could not see his features do to the fact that the wood elf was facing away from him, apparently communing with the trees. The sun caught in his hair, making it shine like fire. It was braided in the fashion of the Mirkwood archers and yet, as Sadron had reported, had no bow or quiver. Instead, several knives and a long dagger were attached to his belt. Estel's companion moved away from the tree, facing him.

Elrond blinked in surprise. Were it not for the coppery hair, seriousness emanating from him, and thinner frame, he would have thought he was watching Legolas or Celeblas. Searching the elf's tunic, Elrond noted the lack of any insignia or mark designating rank. Perhaps the warrior was simply a very close relative of the brothers'. There had been a copper-headed elfling who had come here several centuries ago who had born a resemblance to them. Cossidh had been his name and he had been a cousin of them. Very likely, this elf was simply that elfling grown up. _Yes, and practically a mirror image of those two. _

The two were now at the gate and the Noldo departed from the balcony to ask Sidlir which guestroom had been prepared for the wood elf and to welcome them. He could not deny that he was anticipating their tale.

As the peredhil strolled down past elegant tapestries, windows, groves, and a couple elves, he heard an exquisite pure voice singing and a harp strumming in accompaniment. Elrond smiled as another, deeper voice joined in. Arwen and Lindir greatly enjoyed making music together and although Lindir had once been infatuated with Arwen as an elfling, they were very close friends. He paused a moment to listen for the duet was one he had not heard before. His daughter sang the part of Nimrodel, Lindir Amroth, and both did the narration.

Elrond had intended to just pass them by, but he made a detour now and entered the room with neither elf acknowledging him, so immersed were they in the melody.

The Evenstar sat on a cushioned bench, her luscious ebony curls spilling down her back and her starlit eyes half-closed, long lashes shading them. Her burgundy gown flowed gently to the floor where Lindir reclined; harp balanced on his knee and leaned against his chest. His eyes were on his instrument and his dark blue tunic and silver legging accented his hair. Soft curtains billowed in a breeze around them.

As they finished, both greeted him with smiles and nods. Elrond smiled appreciatively at the two singers. "I trust that you will favor us all with that song tonight."

The musician bent his head as he adjusted a string. "Of course, my lord. I re-read the tale of Nimrodel and Amroth this morning and felt the urge to compose something of them. I hope it is passable?"

Arwen laughed lightly, admonishing him. "You know that it is lovely, Lindir, and tonight, everyone will tell you so. Every composition by you is beautiful and you know that."

Lindir clutched his harp to his chest and proclaimed mock-seriously. ""I can only sing if you sing with me, fairest of all elf-maidens."

"But of course, my dear Lindir. How could I resist when your songs are so enchanting?"

"I thank you for the joy you grant me by saying such," the ellon swept his hand out from his heart in a gesture of gratitude. He cocked his head as he rose to his feet. "If I am not mistaken, I hear Estel's voice at the gate. He has returned soon."

Elrond nodded. "You are not, Lindir. I go now to welcome him. Would either of you care to accompany me?" He kept his eyes on Arwen, waiting for her reaction.

The elleth hid a smile. "No, thank you, Father. I fear my presence would prove distracting to him. I shall greet him later."

"Very well," Elrond said, appreciating her wisdom. Arwen did not quite return Estel's feelings, but felt a great affection for him nonetheless.

As he left, Lindir plucked his harp and began a segment of the Lay of Leithian with his own embellishments. Arwen laughingly protested.

The elf lord descended a flight of spiraling stairs, examining his surroundings to be certain that all was in good order, which of course it was. Glorfindel's golden head vanished through the doorway as he went to welcome the newcomers as well, followed by Sidlir.

Halting in the doorway, Elrond watched as the Balrog Slayer enthusiastically clapped Aragorn on the back and exchanged jests. The Mirkwood elf narrowed his eyes at the Last Homely House and his responses to the warm comments others gave him were rather cold. Up close, his extremely strong resemblance to Legolas and Celeblas was even more marked.

Estel's eyes alighted on him and Elrond was about to go to him, when another beat him to it.

"Estel! Oh, my dear Estel! Are you hearty? Uninjured? Oh, I've been so worried about you in the Wilds. How is Halbarad? You must be tired and hungry. Oh, my son!"

Smiling, the Firstborn made way for Gilraen, who practically flew to her son from the gardens, auburn hair streaming and gown caught up in one hand. She forcefully embraced her son, talking to him all the while. The young ranger happily returned the embrace and answered her questions as quickly as he could.

Gilraen pulled back to examine him closely. A bloodstain on his leggings received her attention. "Oh, no. What happened, Estel? Here, let me tend to it. Is it serious?"

Estel brushed her fretting hands away. "It is nothing, Mother. This is from an old wound, but the stain will not come out."

The Noldo decided to come to his foster-son's rescue. "Estel, it is good to have you back in Imladris." He said kindly.

The young man straightened and bowed. "My lord Elrond, it is good to be here. Imladris is as fair as ever."

Saddened, he placed a hand on the heir of Isildur's shoulder. "My son…There is no need to call me lord. You know this."

Shifting uncomfortably, Estel met his foster-father's gaze and Elrond read there a wealth of emotions before the man looked away. The peredhil squeezed his shoulder and smiled at him, before relinquishing the ranger to an impatient Gilraen. When the Dunadan opened his mouth to protest, Elrond stopped him by saying, "You can tell after your mother tends to you."

With a fake resigned air, the Hope of Men allowed himself to be dragged off by his mother and fussed over.

The wood elf, who had witnessed all this impassively, stepped forward and inclined his head. "Lord Elrond, I am Cossidh of the Woodland Realm. It is a pleasure to be in Imladris once more."

His voice was deeper than Legolas' and not as harsh as Celeblas'. Assumptions confirmed, the elf lord returned the greeting graciously. "Welcome, Cossidh. I hope Imladris is as you remember."

This garnered no response except a flash of Cossidh's steely eyes as they darted about with a flash of confusion.

_Strange,_ Elrond thought and continued before the silence could grow uncomfortable. "It is long since we have heard from Thranduil's folk."

Cossidh had a retort for that. "It is long since we have heard from Imladris in our realm," he said challengingly.

The Noldo had to concede to that. He tilted his head, acknowledging the accusation. "We are both at fault then." The wood elf merely stared at him haughtily. _Just like Thranduil._ "It is good of you to have come."

"I might not have." Cossidh flicked his gaze to the doorway Gilraen and Estel had disappeared through significantly. "Yet I am grateful that I did, however brief the stay."

_Now we arrive at the point_. Elrond dismissed the spectators with a glance and a wave of his hand. Sidlir stayed though, her lips lifted in a knowing smile that she would be needed to direct the guest to his quarters. "I am pleased you find our refuge so pleasant. Perhaps after you refresh yourself, you would like to see more."

The way Cossidh squinted briefly showed that he understood that the invitation was more of a request to be informed. "I would indeed."

"Come then, I will show you to your rooms."

Sidlir fell in step with the two, guiding them through the airy hallways with simple hand gestures and glances.

"I trust that you will be staying for more than one night?" Elrond asked.

The Silva seemed rather taken with the entrance to the kitchens, a strange look upon his face, before realizing he was being addressed. "Estel plans too."

"Indeed?" He obscurely observed his guest as strains of song around them ebbed and flowed.

"Yes." Now the wood elf stared at a grove of trees and the expression of bewilderment flashed across his features.

Realizing that Cossidh intended to be cryptic, Elrond decided to save his questions for later.

Sidlir led them to a bright room with an oak's branches coming through the windows and a balcony right next to the oak's trunk. Pots of flowers and small shrubs were strewn artistically about. A bed with soft green sheets folded back, a cherry wood wardrobe, and an assortment of chairs, benches, small tables, and desks were what consisted of the furniture. An elaborate painting of Tuor and Voronwe by the sea decorated one wall while the others had windows. Sidlir smiled at them, before taking an ewer to refill it.

Cossidh looked about curiously, stroking the leaves of one of the shrubs. He seemed fascinated by the painting. Elrond let him examine his room for a moment before taking a step back towards the doorway. The wood elf was startled out of his reverie. "Thank you, Lord Elrond. These quarters are more than adequate."

The peredhil lifted his chin proudly. "You are more than welcome."

As he left, the Silva slipped his pack from his back and he caught the whispered sentence, "If only Mirkwood was this light."

OoOoOoO

"There! Oh, how fine you look. So like your father…." Gilraen said wistfully as she stepped back to survey a freshly-clad, clean Aragorn. He was still dressed in Dunadan style, but had consented to wear an elvish tunic and was putting his years of dealing with elves into practice now.

For, one must see, Aragorn did not like being fussed over. He loved his mother, of course, but there were times when she…over exaggerated things. For example, he had only needed to change into a fresh pair of clothes, but she had sternly insisted that he wash, wear good clothes, put his ceremonial dagger at his belt, and allow her to make him a new set of clothes. Mothers….

The woman was frowning at him and pointed at the sword scabbard on his belt that appeared to have a sword in it. "I do not see, though, why you seem to find it necessary to carry the shards of Narsil with you on your wanderings."

The man fidgeted, having explained many times before. "I will leave them at camp or here when I go on any great journey that guarantees danger so that they will not fall into unsuited hands, Naneth."

"That does not explain why you carry them with you at all, Estel." She was looking at him expectantly.

"They remind me of what I must become and it is reassuring have them by my side."

Folding a newly-dried shirt, she sighed, but did not say anything. Gilraen placed it on his bed. "Go now. You have told me what you will and I am sure that Lord Elrond wishes to hear of your journey."

Aragorn felt guilt tug at his heart. All he had told his mother was that he and Cossidh had met and Bree and that the elf was on his way to Mirkwood. Curious, Aragorn had decided to accompany him. He had purposely avoided the topic of Legolas' supposed death, because he was not yet certain whether it was true or not and saw no reason to grieve his family and friends unnecessarily. Gilraen knew that he was hiding something, but did not press him because Aragorn usually divulged held back information after a while.

"I will see you again tonight."

"Estel." Her voice stopped him as he spun on his heel towards the door. She gave him a half-smile when he faced her again. "You still have not told me how many days you plan to stay."

The Dunadan adjusted the dagger sheath in his belt. "Today and we will leave again tomorrow. I would stay longer, but my companion begrudges all delay."

"Thank you," Gilraen dismissed him, an expression on her face that looked disturbingly like she was scheming.

He wandered the corridors in search of Elrond. Several of his friends would fall in step with him for a time, asking how he was and exchanging news, but always he refrained from speaking of the true nature of his journey. They could not tell where Elrond was though as the elf lord had apparently disappeared.

A zephyr laden with the scent of blossoming flowers wafted past his nose. Impulsively, he pivoted to the outdoors. There was a small waterfall surrounded by rocks and foliage which had been his refuge for as long as he could remember.

Feeling no need for stealth, he hummed a contemplative tune. Grass flattened beneath his feet and slowly sprang back up after the weight had been lifted. A squirrel scolded him before scurrying back into the foliage. His feet strayed in the direction of the clearing where he had first laid eyes upon Arwen, before he corrected himself and resumed his original course.

_Is Arwen still here?_ He wondered. _I doubt that she is, but I do hope that I am wrong in that._

A pebble rolled underfoot and the soft murmuring of a stream and the active wildlife going about their business gave way to a dim thunder. The elven melodies seemed to strengthen and enhance nature around him.

The youthful man relished the peace. When he was a child, he had taken it for granted, but a few excursions with Elladan and Elrohir had taught him just how precious it was. Aragorn fully intended to savor every single moment that he was here.

That was not to say, however, that he had no taste for adventure. Quite the opposite. He greatly anticipated the rest of the journey. The Dunadan had a great many questions which would be answered. Were there really giants in the mountains, for example? And were the spiders in Mirkwood as big as they were fabled to be?

Climbing easily over boulders and around the vegetation, Aragorn found that his refuge was already occupied.

Cossidh was sitting on the tallest boulder, arms wrapped around his knees and head bent forward. The elf's eyes were closed, he frowned, and his whole body was as tense as a drawn bow.

The sight of him there was a surprise. Why would an elf be 'relaxing' on stone when elves, especially Thranduil's folk, sought comfort from the trees?

"Forgive me; I had not known that this area was already occupied." He apologized, the boom of the water falling greatly drowning out noise from around.

Cossidh did not appear to have heard him, but the furrow between his brows grew deeper.

Taking a step forward with caution on the slick rocks, Aragorn called out the elf's name. "Cossidh?"

Jerking as if he was startled, the Silva slid down a few inches before regaining his balance. He turned stormy grey eyes towards the ranger, and Aragorn took a small step backwards at all the raw emotion swirling in them. Bewilderment, pain, joy, anger, and another that Aragorn did not recognize all combined as only an elf can express. Confusion was the most prominent though. The wood elf's eyes cleared, but his face was still more open then it had been since they had been together.

"Yes?" Cossidh's tone was tired and he touched his temples as if he had a headache.

Aragorn frowned, the healer in him rising. "Are you alright?"

"Of course," he responded, a little too quickly.

Not in the least bit convinced, the Dunadan stepped forward. "I do not-"

Voice curt, Cossidh over-rode his statement. "Truly, I am fine. How many days until we leave here?"

Surprised by the freely expressed feelings and questions that did not beat about the bush, but got straight to the point, Aragorn hesitated. "Tomorrow…."

Leaping down easily from his perch, the wood elf pressed his lips together, relief flitting across his features. "That is well. Lord Elrond agrees that we should arrive in Mirkwood as soon as possible. He says there is trouble there."

The ranger placed his hand on a rock. "Did he?"

"Yes. He also said that he did not feel as if Legolas' fea had left this world. Indeed, he was certain of that and said that my information confirmed it for him."

"That is a relief."

"Indeed."

"I am certain that Legolas' family and people will be exhilarated."

"Oh, I am sure that they will be. We will need to find the prince first, however."

_And that is where this will take some time. I wonder who the elf that died was though…And why he was mistaken so easily for the prince._ Aragorn let Cossidh pass him and sat on the stone the elf had vacated to think.

OoOoOoO

_I hope that was alright. –bites fingernails nervously- Constructive criticism is much appreciated! And I promise that the next update won't be a year from now. ;)_


	6. Chapter Five

_**A/N: **__See? I updated sooner then a year! Just a warning though: The next chapter may take longer as I am currently playing with the idea of writing my own original story. :3_

_Thank you, all who added this to their favs/alerts, and especially The Pearl Maiden, LegolasWillabethKenobi, Aranel Mereneth, Cori the Freak-of-Nature, and lisa for reviewing! Every time someone leaves a review, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. :)_

_**Disclaimer: **__See the Prologue._

_**~*Chapter Five*~**_

_In Mirkwood…_

_Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

Tathar lifted his dagger and tested the edge with a finger, nodding in satisfaction and put his whetting stone back into his belt pouch. He turned the blade this way and that, admiring the way the leaf dapples fell on it. Leaning back into the oak, Tathar laid the dagger on his lap and turned his face towards the sun. The warm beams fell across his features and he closed his eyes, enjoying their caress.

The treesong whispered to him and the faint breeze still carried the scent of winter on it as it breathed against the leaves. Tathar exhaled, and paused for a moment before inhaling, clearing his mind of thoughts. His eyes opened again and the elf readily opened his mind to Ennor's melody, feeling his mind begin to turn to memories.

"Uncle Tathar!"

His reverie was broken as a slight elfling hurtled into sight, branches bouncing with the force he sprang from them, and skidded to a stop in Tathar's oak. He grinned at his uncle. The warrior returned the grin before lazily crossing his legs.

"Yes, Caladbrethil?"

Caladbrethil was practically radiating excitement. "You must see! King Thranduil is planning a feast!"

The Silva sat up straight at that. _Indeed? I wonder why…It is only spring, after all. But then a feast would be a good way to bolster spirits. Even if we are already pleased by the enemies' steady retreat. _He narrowed his eyes in mock-suspicion. "Indeed? And how did you come by this information?"

The elfling paused, seeming to speak with the wood. Tathar heard a ripple of laughter and promises to remain silent. He chuckled inwardly as Caladbrethil nodded with satisfaction and confided, "I overheard the king and the princess talking in the halls."

He looked so pleased that Tathar let his twitching lips curve upwards. "Did you?"

"King Thranduil said that since we are doing so well in besting the orcs and spiders, we ought to have a celebration," his eyes sparkled, "Princess Merillas did not seem too pleased, but that was only after the king mentioned wine. What's a celebration without wine?"

The elf was struggling to gaze sternly at his nephew, though inwardly he was just as pleased. "Why would the absence of wine bother you, Caladbrethil?"

"Because," Caladbrethil wrapped his feet around a limb and flipped himself upside-down, "wine tastes good. Father let me try some during Yule."

"Indeed?" The Silva pushed his nephew and the elfling grinned with delight as he swung back and forth. He tilted his head to look Caladbrethil in the eye. "I would have said that you are too young for the vintage, but perhaps not. Is there also a young maiden who has captured your eye?"

"What?" The novice dropped onto a lower branch, managing to twist so that he did not land on his head, and stared at his uncle in shock. "No!"

Snickering, Tathar stood and sheathed his dagger. "Are you entirely certain? I believe I saw you-"

"Uncle!"

He shook his head at the shock in the elfling's eyes. "Come then. I hear the hiss of arrows in flight."

Caladbrethil sulked, knowing well what that meant. "I head the splashing of water and laughter."

"Perhaps the water will call to you again after you have freed the shafts. I am certain that it will for I shall hear it then as well," Tathar promised. "Here, let us race to the grounds."

"Alright!" Caladbrethil sprang to his feet and grabbed the branch above him as he warned, "You have to let the smaller bird take flight first though, least it be caught to soon by the hawk."

"Agreed."

The elfling took off through the terraces. Tathar waited for a moment before following his nephew at a more sedate pace.

OoOoOoOoO

Time froze. Celeblas could not move as his wide eyes fixed on those of his brother. He swallowed hard, trying get some moisture back into his suddenly dry mouth. His efforts proved futile and the prince remained staring at Legolas, struggling to form a rational explanation in his mind.

"Good. Very good. I see you are willing to comply," Legolas purred, smirking. "Now, would you care to place that dagger on your desk?"

The ellon found that he could move and glanced at the weapon in his hand that he had forgotten about. He tightened his grip on it instinctively and made an effort to speak past the lump in his throat. "Le-Lego-" His voice croaked and no amount of spittle seemed to help.

Legolas' tone remained soft, but now there was a steel behind it and his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Please place the dagger on the desk, Celeblas." When Celeblas made no move to do so, he repeated. "_Please."_

Shivers chased themselves up and down his spine and he furrowed his brows, drawing in breaths through his mouth. "Why…," Celeblas gasped, "why do you want it? And who are you?"

The temperature of the room seemed to plummet and the air tightened around the duo as the archer laughed. "You know perfectly well who I am." He lowered his bow and grasped it and the shaft with one hand. Extending his now-empty hand, the elf continued to pin the prince with his gaze. "Please."

Celeblas felt his grip on the blade loosening.

"I have a need of it."

He drew back his hand and raised his chin as he regained control over himself. "No."

"No?" There was a definite edge to the archer's voice now. "And, pray tell me, why not?"

"You are not my brother."

"Aren't I?" Celeblas was reminded of a snake as his 'brother' said silkily. "And what make you so certain of that?"

The knots in his stomach tightened and his instincts screamed at him. Goosebumps appeared on his arms and the cold began to burn, but he stood fast. "Legolas was a merry elf who never threatened friends, much less family, with weapons as you are doing. Legolas is also dead. I saw his body and funeral with my own eyes," Celeblas blinked back the wetness in his eyes. "Also, your arrowhead is strange. It is like…," he struggled to think of what the point resembled. "It…is like…."

The elf spread his hands wide and quirked an eyebrow. "I seem to recall having mock-threatened several friends in the spirit of pranking. Have you forgotten? And if I were dead, I would obviously not be here, now would I? Did you even look at the face of the dead elf?"

It was so hard to piece a coherent thought together. Celeblas gave his head a shake to clear it. "Yes, I did. The orcs had not only killed him, but tortured him as well…His face…It was horribly cut."

"That proves my point." 'Legolas' slinked a step closer, looking at him pityingly. "If the face was 'horribly cut', one cannot prove that it was me."

"But-The tunic was-"

"Undoubtedly pillaged. As were the weapons." He twirled the arrow in his hand. "It would be a simple matter if one wanted to deceive you to confiscate the elf's original tunic and replace it with one of mine. Wouldn't you agree?

"Now, the dagger. Please."

The crown prince still withheld the weapon, though he could clearly see the reasoning behind the other's words. "Then, where have you been these past ten years? We have had need of you!"

'Legolas' stopped twirling the arrow, impatience flashing in his eyes. "I was captured by orcs and taken far from here. I escaped, but had to wander far ere I could find my way back here. But I tire of this. Please give me the dagger."

"No."

His lips pressed into a thin line, reminding Celeblas of King Thranduil when he was angry. "Brother, why must you be so difficult? I only desire to help Merillas as well. Is that so horrible?"

In answer, the prince moved to open the door, knife behind his back. _You may claim to be Legolas, but you-_

A horrible, lancing pain pierced his stomach and his cry of pain was muffled by a firm hand against his mouth. The already chilly air seemed to be armed with pikes of heat and ice. He tensed in an effort to ease the pain, breathing hard through his nose. The lean body behind him hissed in his ear as it pried open his fingers. "I would not have had to do this if you had only listened to me."

Black spots fizzed in his vision and a wetness spread across his tunic. Celeblas felt the world spiraling out of control and tried to elbow the elf behind him, but only earned himself more misery when the elf took the dagger from him and twisted the arrow. He jerked, eyes wide as the searing bolts of agony shooting through him increased tenfold.

He felt himself being released and fell heavily to the ground. The impact did nothing to help him and he curled in on himself, groaning. Dimly, Celeblas saw the other elf lean down holding the blade. Through a fog, he heard a voice say. "You could have spared yourself this."

The relentless throbbing in his abdomen and the multiplying blotches in his vision made him wonder if he was only imagining it when he realized the arrowhead was of the same style of Merillas' strange blade. Before the hilt descended to send him into the abyss, the prince also thought he saw his opponent's eye color change from grey to blue.

OoOoOoOoO

"'_Tis so gay in the Greenwood, I say,_

_In the lovely, evernew Spring,_

_When the sweet birds chirp and sway,_

_And ever the flowers bloom;_

"_Then rears the ash his chest,_

_Then shines the birch in his vest,_

_And the beech glittering leaves drest,_

_And dark shows the oak his chest;_

"_A many branches so their sheen,_

_As the golden sunbeams shine between,_

_Ever the leaves are brighter green,_

_Dull is the fea that sings not then,_

_In the deep recess of Greenwood's glen."_

Thranduil smiled to hear the light-hearted air amidst others as the wood elves prepared for tomorrow's celebration. Simply that it was Spring was a good enough reason for a feast to them. And why not celebrate? They were successfully beating back the Shadow, trade was good, and there were no complications with their allies. Let his daughter protest all she wished; there would be only the finest vintage there.

His father had been correct. The Silvan elves were not as high and mighty as the Noldor were, but they possessed something that Sauron had been unable to completely quell and that the High elves only allowed themselves to taste in small quantities. A jubilant wildness.

Ever since the…, his features contracted in a scowl, stunted…ones had made their escape, many young elves had made a game of running on the floating barrels, the faster, the better. They also relished racing across thin ropes, jumping from very high places to land lightly on two feet, daring each other to step out onto the thinnest twigs, purposefully trying to capsize boats in the Enchanted River…Risking their necks basically.

That air, combined with rigorous training and a natural suspicion of strangers, was part of why they had never succumbed to the Darkness.

He stepped through the door into the sunlight, nodding coolly to the guards. Thranduil made his way towards the training grounds, loosening his sword. The need for a good duel to release frustrations came to his mind. It would not due to be angered tomorrow.

The elvenking heightened his senses as he walked, waiting grimly for a sense of evil to brush against his awareness. Before the Necromancer had fled, spiders had been bold enough to venture into his realm. He was gratified that no such feeling came. It was another testament to how hard his warriors had worked in the short time since then. Lately, the elves had been regaining land lost, going deliberately beyond the borders and searching for stray orcs, wargs and spider nests. The enemies were not so bold now. They had not Sauron's power dictating them and seemed rather lost.

However…This morning's report had not been so pleasing. Young Faerlad had been even more shy and uneasy as she related the…dagger…incident. Merillas merely confirmed it with a dark look and said that Celeblas was reviewing the annals for information. Thranduil hoped that his son found some soon; he despised being left in the dark for any length of time. Knowing Celeblas, he would have to ask for a quick answer or the prince would meander through the documents, analyzing every tidbit he thought even slightly relevant.

The thunk of something hitting a solid object became more pronounced and Thranduil paused by one of the clearings to see his daughter stalk over to a target, retrieve her dagger, return to her original position, and throw again. She held her injured arm close to her body, but seemed determined to make up for its weakness by perfecting her speed and aim further. It struck the bulls' eye with a skill born of centuries of practice. His son Daenagnir had helped her when she was first learning how to handle a knife before he had sailed. He had also assisted Legolas in archery until his younger brother surpassed him and taught Celeblas sword craft.

Thranduil shoved away thoughts of his son. They would only lead to memories of Bregelon and the Last Alliance, his lovely wife Eruwestiel and their unborn child in the warg attack, Sulthalagan's sailing, Legolas and the orcs, Cossidh's disappearance…He firmly turned his mind towards military matters.

"Your grip on the dagger is slightly off," Thranduil said critically as Merillas prepared to throw again.

She pivoted towards him, eyes flashing, before checking herself stiffly. "Thank you," she replied shortly and adjusted her hold before forcefully throwing the dagger at a more distant target.

The son of Oropher narrowed his eyes. There was no call for her to be angry with him, especially not after he had given her advice. He stepped into the clearing. "Your anger would be better served against our enemies."

Merillas tensed and turned her back toward him as she flung another blade at a leaf. "Indeed? Unfortunately, I cannot go against them until _this _heals."

Thranduil glanced at her bandaged shoulder before focusing back on the back of her head. "You can. By helping your brother in his research."

He watched impassively as she spun back to face him, face dark with anger, though inwardly he was wondering what had brought about this rage. A wounded shoulder did not merit such emotions. "Celeblas has no need of _me._ His precious books will occupy him until the dwarves make amends to us. I have better things to do with my days. I know of what we faced and what we face now. I worry for our people while others concern themselves with dusty parchments of the past and _jewels._ I-"

"Enough!" The elvenking glared at the princess. "You are obviously not in your right mind if you so presume to be the only one aware of what our position was and is. You will speak with respect, and if you cannot, then curb your tongue!"

She met his gaze challengingly and he intensified his glare. Merillas opened her mouth to speak again, but closed it and her body relaxed. She bowed her head, murmuring, "Forgive me, sire. I-I know not what came over me."

Thranduil's temper cooled somewhat, but he did not release her from his gaze. "See that it does not come over you again. Words of advice are not meant to inspire anger."

"Yes, sire."

As she lifted her head, Thranduil caught confusion in her eyes, but she resumed a proud stance.

"You may go assist your brother now." _That will have to serve as punishment,_

"Yes, sire," Merillas said again, a resigned air in her voice and bowed. She went to collect her blades.

Thranduil resumed his course and frowned. Merillas did tend to flaunt her opinions, but she usually knew better than to throw a scene like that and so demean others.

The Sinda purposefully avoided the archery grounds on his way. They brought too many memories of Legolas to mind.

The sound of metal on metal was much closer now and again Thranduil stopped to watch his warriors' prowess. One pair of elves was dueling while one or two others watched. They moved with such grace, fluidity, and speed that mortal eyes would be hard pressed to make out more than a blur. The two complimented each other, feinting, ducking, leaping, and slashing with equal skill. Locked in their dance, they nonetheless kept all of their senses alert for aught wrong out of their fight. As was their nature, the Silvan elves did not stay bound to the ground, but made use of the trees as well.

The elvenking was content to stand and watch until it ended. The skill of his warriors' inspired pride in him.

One of the elves finally managed to gain the upper hand for a moment and used it to disarm his opponent. The sword flew through the air and landed in the grass near Thranduil's feet. The victor tapped the unfortunate's collarbone once and took a step back. He offered his arm and they grasped forearms.

"Well fought."

"Well won."

The Sinda entered the clearing and all present inclined their heads. He retrieved the fallen sword and offered it hilt first to its owner. "That was an excellent duel."

The elf accepted it with a low bow and they both thanked him. The victor saw his loosened sword and quirked an inquiring eyebrow. "Would you like to duel, sire?"

"Indeed, I would," Thranduil said. "But it would not be fair for me to fight you when I am entirely fresh and you are not." The light in his eyes warned them not to argue.

A dark-haired elf emerged from the trees and approached as the others subsided. His long-time friend Gaelgil halted a few paces away and looked at Thranduil questioningly. Thranduil gave a slight nod of permission and they exchanged a half-smile. The two elves stepped forward so that they could grip each other's forearms just like the younger elves had. Then, they both walked a few paces away from each other and drew their swords.

The elvenking felt the humming tension in his body waiting for a release and melded his mind to focus on the silver blade, feeling it become an extension of his arm. The treesong seemed to dim, and yet, at the same time, became even more pronounced.

He then turned back to face Gaelgil and they met each other's eyes, signaling that they were ready.

Yet, as they both began to move, Thranduil's keen ears caught the sounds of someone moving through the trees at a rapid pace. He turned to confront a very anxious elf who dropped out of a tree, bearing some _alarming_ news….

OoOoOoOoO

_Just as a note, that song is mine. I wrote it a year ago, soo…Yup. And please, do concrit! It means the world to me. :)_


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